


Once Upon a Time in Agrabah

by Mitchi_476



Series: Once Upon a Time Chronicals [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Once Upon a Time in Wonderland spoilers, Post-Season/Series 03A AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9538178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitchi_476/pseuds/Mitchi_476
Summary: Henry and his friend Zachary Molina go in search of a rare edition of One Thousand and One Nights. One written by the hand of an Author. What they found was a world of on the verge of war. For in the wake of Jafar's betrayal, Jasmine has risen to become Sultana of Agrabah, a fierce warrior and lawgiver. But war with Verona is coming, and Henry and Zachary quickly find themselves caught up in the storm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank Sparky_Young_Upstart. He and I started working on this a long time ago. We initially shelved it last spring, and Sparky has since stopped watching the show, but I've decided to continue working on it. Sparky co-wrote this first chapter and outlined our plots for roughly eight seasons worth of content!

Chapter 1

It took a few kicks, but eventually the old wooden boards snapped and splintered away. Henry and his friend coughed at the uprising of dust that billowed out of the sealed room. Henry wasn't about to be delayed by a product of old age. He was on a mission and wasn't slowing down for anything.

Not even for his best friend. Zachary Molina trudged through the hole in the wall with much more caution than Henry had. 

Zach Molina was twenty-two and a history major and working on his honours thesis. They had met through the same group of friends Henry had joined in freshmen year. Zach had been in Abu Dhabi, at the NYU campus there, during his junior year — Henry’s freshmen year — as part of a study abroad program. In some strange way, they clicked. Zach, logical and precise, at least professed a preference for the safety of the library and the certainty of hindsight. But Henry knew there was an adventurous streak behind the cool façade. And it helped that they ended up sharing an anthropology class that fall semester.

Henry tapped into that hidden adventurer. For an English major, Zach found he was surprisingly hands-on. He was the most talked about student of the English program at NYU. He went out of his way to hunt down obscure and little-known facts about things he read, and broached bizarre-yet-brilliant topics in every class. He had a knack for finding difficult to obtain books, including editions that were thought all accounted for or lost entirely, and had been known to vanish for several days in pursuit of rare literature. When he was asked why he was such an odd duck he simply said that the stories were talking to him and he couldn't ignore them.

For the most part, Zach had managed to keep Henry’s more reckless side in check. Until today that is, when Henry had suggested that the two of them check out an abandoned library wedged into the remains of a decrepit apartment building from the early twentieth century, at least.

"What exactly are you hoping to find here?" Zach asked as he looked around the area. Slivers of sunlight managed to filter through cracks and gaps in the building, but most of it was cloaked in shadow. Now he understood why Henry had insisted that they bring flashlights.

Henry had already clicked his on and was scanning the shelves. There were only so many books in this small building, but they were in heavy disrepair and many had collapsed into piles of mouldy tomes and yellowed paper. "It's a rare copy of The Thousand and One Nights. One of a kind."

Zach nodded and began looking through shelves on the other side of the room. "Cool, cool. It'd help if we knew who put it together."

"Scheherazade," Henry replied without looking up.

Zach chuckled. "Funny. No really, though. Is it a Galland translation, or somebody else?"

Henry shook his head. "Don't worry about that part, it won't say the author on there anyway." He held his hands about a foot apart. "Should be this wide, and this tall, with a fancy gold cover."

Zach pursed his lips. "Great." He turned back to his shelf. "One step above a needle in a haystack."

They went through shelves for a good ten minutes in silence before Zach happened upon a book that looked like it was tall enough. He pulled it out and regarded the cover. True enough, the gold foil glinted in the flashlight's beam. The Thousand and One Nights it read in a flowery font embossed onto it. "Hey, I think I got it," he called out.

Henry was over there in a flash, tearing the book out of his hands. "Yes!" he cried out with glee. He quickly shoved a pile of rubble off a nearby table to place the book there. Zach was a little shocked to see Henry so worked up over a book, but to be fair this was the reputation he had. Still, he regarded this with the same reverence that some people have the Bible.

"So what's so special about this copy?" Zach asked. "Has it got some lost tales or something?"

"Something like that," Henry replied. He pulled a pen out from his pocket and took a deep breath. "Here we go."

He opened the book. And that's when everything went crazy.

A golden light burst forth from the pages, briefly blinding the two boys. A powerful wind began to blow, and it started to drag the them towards the book.

Zachary was screaming at the top of his lungs. "WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE HEEEELLLL!" Sand began to spew forth, swirling around the two.

Henry immediately grabbed onto Zach's arm. "HANG ON!" he called.

"NO!"

"TOO LATE!”

And it was - the power of the book was beyond the two of them, and with a final tug it yanked both of them inside it. The swirling sand began to spin the book around at rapid speeds until it folded into itself and vanished as quickly as the boys had, leaving no evidence of its presence other than some scattered granules of desert sand.

Henry found that the sun was too bright. The sand red and burning hot. The sky such a pale blue it almost seemed impossible. It all would seem impossible if Henry had never known better. He took off his heavy winter coat, scarf and hat. It was hard to breath it was so hot.

Snorting sand out of his nose and groaning, Zach got up, asking: “Where are we?” 

Henry didn’t respond. He saw something, far off in the distance. In this heat, it could have merely been a mirage. But…

“Henry?” Zach said, an edge of dread and distress in his voice, “Henry. Where are we.”

Henry didn’t move his eyes from what he saw. In a small breath, too amazed by what he saw, he replied.

“Agrabah.” The home of Aladdin, Jasmine. Scheherezade.

Zach’s grip on his arm broke Henry from his reverie. “That’s insane!” Eyes wide, breathing heavily, sweat already appearing on his brow. “Agrabah’s from a movie! A kids movie! Came out of some script writer’s head!”

Henry nodded, then turned away and began looking for something in the sand. All Zach could do was stare at him in bewilderment. How the hell can he be so calm about this? He wondered. Henry shortly pulled out the very book that had dragged them there. Brushing sand off of the cover, he opened it up again. Zach flinched, still shocked from last time, but there were no fireworks this time. Henry was able to flip through the pages like any book.

“This is insane,” Henry, trying to sound as calm as possible -- if not for Zach’s sake, then for his own -- said. “You may not believe me, but there’s no dancing around the fact. I didn’t think it would come to this, but since we’re here I guess it’s time you knew the truth about me.” He walked to Zach and showed him the last page of the book.

“I wasn’t joking when I said that this copy of The Thousand and One Nights was written by Scheherazade. She was the Author, and centuries ago she was tasked with recording the most important tales in all the lands. Others after kept the story going, recording the history of this kingdom through the ages. And now it’s up to me.”

Zach looked from Henry to the book, then back to Henry. “Bullshit!” he cried out, and began storming off. Henry rolled his eyes and began to trudge after him.

“You can say that all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

Zach waved him off and pulled out his wallet, checking the contents. “I’ve got eighty dollars in here. That should get us some shelter for tonight. Then we can get in contact with some American ambassadors, and they’ll get us home.”

Henry sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We’re not in the same world as America any more. We’re in a - in a world out of time, a place where fairy tales exist.”

Zach turned heel and began to flail his arms at Henry. “There is no such thing as magic!” he screamed.

Henry just levelled his gaze at him. “Then how’d we get from New York to here?” he asked frankly.

This one threw Zach off. Of course he couldn’t really explain it, but he wasn’t about to agree with the possibility that he had gotten sucked into a book. “Maybe we’re still in New York and the library was just full of weird moulds. Maybe we are straight trippin’.”

Henry shook his head. “Alright, then I’ll just have to prove it to you.” He sat down in the sand and placed the book on his lap, and then pulled his pen from his pocket. He tapped the point against the pages a few times, then suddenly jammed it into the palm of his other hand. Zach yelped in surprise.

“What the shit! You don’t - you can’t just go around stabbing yourself in the middle of the desert!”

Henry ignored him. Blood of a saviour always got things going, and he had that thanks to one of his mothers. The wound sealed quickly, but the ink in the pen was pulsing with energy. Quickly he began writing where the previous author had left off, adding a new paragraph to the work. Then he shoved it into Zach’s hands. “Here you go.”

Zach took the book and read aloud. “‘Henry and Zachary, pulled into the kingdom of Agrabah by the enchantment on the book, soon found themselves at odds with each other due to Zach’s disbelief. This changed, however, when Henry wrote that the two were soon set upon by a caravan travelling towards the city and were invited along by the Fisherman.’ Who’s the Fisherman?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Henry replied before stabbing the pen into the page across from the prose. Ink flowed out of the pen and covered the parchment, and before Zach’s eyes he saw it transform into an image. It was him and Henry standing in the desert, the book in Zach’s arms, and Zach’s head turned to the right to witness an approaching train of camels.

He couldn’t help but turn his head to the right, and witnessed an approaching train of camels. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Zach turned back to Henry, “That is a sheer coincidence and means nothing.” He snapped the book shut and gave it back to Henry, grabbed his things and waved down the caravan. A few of the riders slowed down, and one broke off. He was an old man, thin and white bearded, and had a distinct smell of fish about him. This must have been the Fisherman from the tale.

“Brothers,” he asked, “Are you lost?”

“Yeah. We kinda got stuck,” Henry replied. Zach still stunned in disbelief.

“Well come along then,” the Fisherman urged, “We hope to reach Agrabah by dark.” He turned to a member of the train with horses in toe.

“Have you ever ridden?” he asked them.

“Yeah, a few times,” Henry answered, “What about you, Zach?”

Zach let out a huff and grumbled. “Yeah, a few times on camping trips.”

“Good, good,” the fisherman said, smiling, “It is always good to have more companions, more stories, for a journey.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

When the Prince of Verona’s ambassadors were summoned for an audience with the Sultana, they were ordered to get down on their hands and knees, and crawl towards her in submission. It was something done by those new to court. New officials who needed to present their credentials. Not seasoned dignitaries. For the throne room was long, echoing, and overwhelmingly splendid. White marble walls inlaid with gilding, enamel, and semi-precious jewels. A long wool and silk carpet, dyed in the richest of blues, reds, and greens, depicted heavenly gardens. The air was heady with the scent of rose, jasmine, and sandalwood. Among the pillars were the members of the court: ministers, dignitaries, courtiers, family members, guards, hostages had all turned out to see. And glittering in the late afternoon sun, the room’s magnificent climax, the focal point from which all of Agrabah’s wealth and power emanated from: the Sultana. 

She sat upon a solid gold throne, ostensibly built to display the greatest jewels of Agrabah’s treasury, inlaid with garnets, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls. A deep shadow was cast by the great, gold canopy obscured the Sultana’s upper half. Only her lower half -- snow white abaya, deep blue kaftan, and gold embroidery -- could be seen clearly. Behind her, the Sultana’s glittering women; the queen mothers, sisters, attendants, and harem administrators, dressed in their finest silks and jewels. At her feet, a tiger in a bejewelled collar laid languid. His eyes glowed deep and gold like the finest amber from the far north.

The ambassadors lowered their heads to the floor, giving their greeting three times before rising to sit on their heels.

The Sultana spoke: “Good sirs, We have word from Our brother King David of Sassoun. He complains about the failure to deliver his bride, Our most beloved sister, Princess Amal, to him for marriage. And around the time we received his complaint, We have received reports from our checkpoints and outposts about roving bandits. Our brother king and We fear that Princess Amal may have been taken by these bandits, whom you, good sirs, know are little better than beasts.”

The most senior of the ambassadors, Don Sebastian, spoke, “Begging your pardon, your majesty, but we do not understand your meaning. We do not understand why you have brought us here, like this, to hear the… unfortunate news of your majesty’s most beloved sister.”

“We ask you thus, good sirs, for amongst other things the reports of bandit activity come from the trading routes of the Old Royal Road. Which We know, lead close to Our brother Prince Escalus’ treaty ports. And the northernmost treaty post, as We know, is not far from Our border with Sassoun.”

The ambassadors were silent.

“Don Sebastian, is Don Bassanio still the governor of Our brother Prince’s ports on Our coast?”

“Yes, your majesty.” 

“And was it not six months ago that Don Bassanio sent the heads of prisoners, Our soldiers, to Our court? And after We so graciously took care of our prisoners, his soldiers, as if they were Our own sons, and returned intact.”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon,” said Don Sebastian, “But I merely represent the interests of my lord, Don Prince Escalus. I have no authority over Don Bassanio, and thus, cannot control his actions and policies in our ports. No matter how much he may need to be reigned in. Much certain like shrewish women.”

The guards’ hands reached for their swords, ready to strike down the ambassador where he stood. The Sultana waved them off and leaned forward. The sun fell upon her face, revealing the face of a striking woman. Deep brown eyes, almost black, rimmed with kohl, dark skin, black hair veiled and set with a bejewelled headdress. 

“We find that hard to believe, Don Sebastian. How can such a lowly merchant, raised up through advantageous marriage, be so hard to reign in? Or is it that Our brother Prince lacks the will, the strength to do so?” and she stood, to her full height, revealing the silver dagger sheathed on her belt, “For is it not true that Don Bassanio now currently holds Our beloved sister in captivity in his fortress?”

“Your majesty,” Don Sebastian uttered in a mocking tone, “such claims like that are quite disrespectful to both Don Bassanio and all of Verona.” He began to rise to his feet, causing shocked murmurs to ripple through the crowd. “I for one will not sit here and kneel to a queen who seems to be using political meetings for mere gossip. And as for your sister, perhaps she was taken upon a by bandits. Lord knows the surrounding sands are rife with them, no thanks to you.”

The guards turned to their Sultana. The amount of disrespect on display begged retribution, yet still she gave no signal to them. Even the ambassadors kneeling next to Sebastian were nervously staring at him. But most shocking of all was when the Sultana rose to her feet, descending the steps of her throne and walking towards the diplomat.

“Whoever has taken Our sister, be it bandits or the ‘nobles’ of Verona, would mind watching their tongue lest they find it has been cut out. Tell me Sebastian, how is it that you became a Don?”

He smirked. “Why, I inherited the title from my father, as I believe you inherited yours.”

The Sultana nodded. “Ah, yes. Our father was Sultan before Us. But We had to fight for Our throne. And anyone familiar with Agrabah would know that the people of this kingdom will fight for what is rightfully there’s - should it come to that, of course.”

Don Sebastian raised a smug eyebrow, his eyes looking in the Sultana’s direction without having the graciousness to match her gaze. “Is that the message that I should give my masters? That Agrabah wishes for a fight?”

“No,” the Sultana replied, and in a swift motion she drew the dagger from her belt and sliced it through the ambassador’s jugular. Sebastian’s last moments of life were the realization that perhaps insulting a queen in her chamber is not the wisest of choices. He collapsed in a pool of his own blood as his compatriots looked in horror. The palace guards, satisfied with this development, relaxed their grips on their blades.

Sultana Jasmine tossed the blade in front of the other ambassadors. “Take this blade and this fool back to your Prince. This is Our message.” She began walking back to her throne. “Agrabah has no desire for war, but that does not mean that she lacks the capability.” She turned and saw that the other two Veronese had not moved from their positions, still frozen in fear.

“Or must We send additional messages?” she asked as she unclasped her robes. As they fluttered to the floor, it was revealed that she was clad in shimmering cerulean armour, and outfitted with many other blades and weapons. The diplomats were finally roused and immediately bowed once more before climbing to their feet, taking the bloodied knife and dragging the body of their compatriot out of the room. It was only once they were gone that Jasmine gave a signal, and her servants swooped over the stain and began to scrub it out of the carpet.

\----------------------------------------------------

Henry and Zach, with the rest of the caravan, had reached Agrabah’s walls just before sunset. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other. Even if they had wanted to, the Fisherman wouldn’t let them get a word in edgewise. The Fisherman had regaled them with the story of the marvellous fish he caught and the wishes they granted. He was going to Agrabah to give these fish to the Sultana and hopefully get his daughters positions in the harem. It was more finishing school and bureaucracy than Henry imagined. With a side of marriage service, of course.

The Fisherman and a few other merchants offered to pay for Henry and Zach at the caravanserai that night. It was a large building, with a open courtyard for the animals, a large well for water. It was part hotel, part marketplace, as Henry observed many merchants making deals, selling goods, food, and animals. The air was heavy with the smell of cooking fires, spices and roasting meat. There were some musicians in a corner, playing some song that caught Henry’s attention. The Fisherman tapped his shoulder, and steered him towards the niche their group had gotten. 

They were packed in tight with their animals and wears. Henry couldn’t help but feel embarrassed for the little Zach and he could contribute, so elected to help unburden the horses and camels. After that they settled down to the meal that the merchants bought them. While Henry tried to keep himself occupied with conversation, he noticed how silent Zach was. A pang of guilt swept over him.

The first chance he could, Henry went over to Zach.

“Hey,” said Henry, sitting beside Zach. He didn’t respond at first; continued to stare into middle distance.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry for this.”

“Sure,” replied Zach. He looked exhausted, and Henry couldn’t blame him.

“I am,” Henry said, with more urgency this time, “I truly am. And I realize that my apology is going to sound pretty hollow and… I get it. This is pretty impossible to believe.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“But, I do need you to believe me,” Henry continued, “And I promise I’ll find a way to get you back to our world. I am so, so sorry.”

Zach finally turned his head to look at Henry, deadly serious, “Really? Do you have any idea how to get ourselves out of this? ‘Cause you know, we’re here while our families and friends are probably going crazy with worry. Probably got half of the NYPD looking for you, alone…”

“I do know of ways to get you back to our world. It’s just getting our hands on them,” Henry interrupted.

“Well that’s all fine and dandy, but how…” Zach paused, “What do you mean? When you said ‘get you back to our world’?”

“We’ll look for a magic bean, you jump in and you’re back home,” Henry answered bluntly.

“Does that… Henry! No! You can’t! You can’t stay here!”

“I got something I have to do.”

“Something so important that you’re just going to up and abandon everything! You’re insane!” 

“Don’t worry, my family will understand,” Henry said. Though he doubted himself on that point. 

“Understand!” cried Zach, disbelieving, “How!”

“Because,” Henry started, trying to figure out what to say, “Because… Because they’re not like anyone else in our world.”

Zach was trying to look stern, but came off exhausted, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Henry gave a sigh and said, the exhaustion now weighing down on him: “My family. My entire family and everyone who lives in Storybrooke, are not from our world. The World Without Magic. I was born in our world, but they all came from a place called The Enchanted Forest. They’re all fairy tale characters.”

Zach looked at Henry wild eyed, “You are insane. And I am going to sleep. If I don’t wake up back in my dorm room tomorrow morning, then we’re gonna find that magic whatever we need to get back home. And you’re coming with me.”

Zach took his coat and rolled it into a ball and placed it on the carpet before laying down. Deliberately, in Henry’s mind, facing away from him.


End file.
